


One more with clarity

by StarryDreamer



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, TV Tropes, post 3x08 speculation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-10
Updated: 2016-09-10
Packaged: 2018-08-14 06:50:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8002525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarryDreamer/pseuds/StarryDreamer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was a truth that Simmons hoped to reveal to Fitz, she just hadn't realized who was paying attention.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One more with clarity

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as a speculation fic after the airing of 3x08. "Once more with clarity" is a TV/Film trope wherein a particular scene or series of events is shown from a variety of perspectives. This story uses that technique, so be warned: things will seem out of sequence at first. Also, never trust an unreliable narrator. :)

**DAISY**

Daisy relished in the feel of the cool air against her skin as she loosened the straps of her gauntlets.  While they served an important purpose, there were days she wished it wasn’t entirely necessary for her to wear them when on assignment.  Mack, however, insisted they made her look like a bonafide superhero and while she’d never admit it aloud, that comment alone encouraged her to keep wearing them.

As she rubbed gently at her eyes with the pads of her fingers, Simmons’ voice echoed in her mind, reminding her that doing so was a sure fire way to get sick.  But Daisy was far too exhausted to care; every muscle in her body ached and when the security gates for the base finally opened, granting her access, she practically dragged herself over the threshold.

Her latest mission had been a decided failure.  She and Lincoln had tried to secure a flame manipulator who’d reportedly been setting fire to half of Kathmandu, but by the time they’d arrived, the ATCU had already swept the area.  The human torch had been spooked and sent running into the Himalayas.

The hallways of the base were darkened, the night dimmers having been activated by Koenig.  Daisy wondered what time it really was and suspected that it must be seriously after hours as she  _ (thankfully) _ couldn’t hear the familiar echo of Bobbi and Hunter’s annoyingly riotous antics.  She made a mental note to speak to Coulson about sound proofing the base.  

She blinked the sleep from her eyes, her feet becoming heavier with every step as she rounded the final corner that led to her room.

“I’m glad everything’s out in the open,” said a familiar voice, stopping Daisy in her tracks. “That you know now. I was so worried.  Nervous, really.”  It was Simmons, her soft, damaged voice unmistakable amid the soft hum of the overhead lights.

“Nervous? Why?”  Fitz chuckled lightly in reply, his hands tucked shyly into the pockets of his pants.  “You knew how I felt.  You’ve known for a while.”

Eyes wide and suddenly awake, Daisy quickly tucked herself into the shadows of a pillar, eager to hear more.  When neither turned at her movement, nor acknowledged her presence, she smiled to herself. May’s training in the art of the stealth approach or whatever old-timey title she’d given it, had paid off.  She wondered briefly if Mack would be interested in any Fitz-Simmons recon; it’d been far too long since she’d acquired any good gossip on her favourite scientists and she’d need someone to share it with.

Simmons shrugged, ducking her head bashfully.  “It’s silly,” she admitted.  

“Try me.” Fitz stepped closer, purposefully putting himself into Simmons’ space and the biochemist blushed a deeper shade of red.  

Daisy’s eyebrow cocked with suspicion.  The Secret Warriors project had clearly kept her far too occupied as she’d had no idea that Fitz-Simmons were… well, whatever they were.

“It’s just-” Simmons paused, seemingly fishing for her words. “I…” she sighed.

Daisy rolled her eyes and motioned with her hands, silently willing her friend to get on with it.

“I wasn’t sure what this would be like for us.”

“Oh?” He replied sounding surprised.  “You mean what happened at dinner?”

She blushed.  “Dinner. And--” she shrugged. “More.”

Fitz furrowed his brow, seemingly clueless.  “More?”

Jemma smiled and stepped toward him and pressed up on the balls of her feet, using his shoulder as a counterweight.  Her cheek grazed his as her lips moved with the whispers of some some untold secret.

Daisy strained to hear what was being said but caught none of it.  She pouted and wondered if there was a way she could hack the security feeds and enhance the sound from the--

“ _ Oh! _ ”  

An excited giggle startled Daisy to attention.  Her eyes widened with shock as she watched as Jemma bunched her fingers into the fabric of Fitz’s shirt, bringing him toward her.  Her mouth widened further as Fitz hungrily pressed Jemma against the wall.  Her door unlocked suddenly and Jemma tugged him backward over the threshold and into her bedroom.  When the door closed behind them, Daisy let out a surprised chuckle and stepped out from her hiding spot, shaking her head in amusement.

She was _ definitely _ going to have to speak to Coulson about sound proofing the base.

 

**MACK**

Mack rolled the last of the spec designs up and gathered the lot of them into his arms.  Fitz would be arriving to the lab shortly and he was fairly certain that he’d finally managed to perfect the engineering arrangements on his axe-gun idea.  If hunting for Inhumans with Daisy had taught him anything, it was that he  _ needed _ an axe-gun.

The lights to the residential wing had already brightened, signalling the start of the work day.  Mack quickened his pace; Fitz was always prompt when he started his workday and he’d hoped to catch his friend before he got too involved in whatever it was he was working on lately.

When the door to Jemma’s bedroom opened, Mack barely bothered a second glance.  It wasn’t until a male figure stepped from its shadows that he took notice.  And what sent Mack’s eyebrow cocking upward with curiosity wasn’t the fact that the male figure was Fitz-- that certainly wasn’t unusual-- it was that Fitz was wearing his undershirt and clutching his messily folded dress shirt and shoes between his hands.

“Turbo.”

Fitz turned quickly, almost stumbling over his own feet and his face instantly burned red.  “Mu-Mack. Hey. Hi. How- how are you?”

“Good,” Mack replied, measuring the intonation of his voice as he walked up beside Fitz. “You?”

“Fine. Great. Fine. Super,” he squeaked and then cleared his throat.  

Mack bit back a laugh.  “When you’re all… dressed, I have something I wanted to show you.” He motioned to the bundle of drafts tucked under his arm.  “It’s for that axe-gun I’ve been talking about.”

“Axe-gun? Good. Yeah. Nice. That’s smart.”

Mack shook his head, a grin wide upon his lips.  Fitz was not listening to him at all.  “I’ll meet you when Santa’s elves arrive?”

“Yeah. No problem. Five minutes?”  

He chuckled. “I’ll give you twenty.”  

Fitz looked up at Mack confused, his eyes unfocused. It was as if he’d been startled out of some daydream.  “Sorry?” He fumbled for his security badge and waved it in front of an access control panel.  It beeped and the light turned green, releasing the lock mechanism.  Fitz turned the door handle.  “Did you say something?”

Mack gave him a look and shook his head, resigned.  “Never mind,” he said, casting a glance at his drafts.  “It can wait.”

When Fitz’s door closed, Mack rolled his eyes and exhaled a deep sigh.  The base was annoyingly beginning to couple and he didn’t like it one bit; where there was coupling there was drama.

Plus couples always _ \-- _

He groaned aloud. He was really going to have to have a word with Coulson about sound proofing the base. Probably before he got around to actually building his axe-gun.

 

**BOBBI**

Bobbi stared at the shelf filled with various salads and debated between the kale and the mixed greens, wondering which would be the less offensive to Hunter.  She sighed.  The obvious answer was neither, but she decided to pick the mixed greens; at least with it there was colour thrown in for good measure.  She loaded her tray with a salad for each of them and returned to the table where Hunter was sitting, his feet propped up on an adjacent seat.

When Bobbi slid his salad toward him, he reacted just as she’d expected.

“Am I a bloody rabbit?” He declared rather loudly, his eyes wide with confusion. “What the hell is this?”

“It’s a salad,” she replied matter-of-factly and shot an apologetic look toward Jemma who sat alone at a table in the corner.  The biochemist barely glanced up from the tea she held between her hands.  

“Again, I ask: when did I become a woodland creature?”

She rolled her eyes.  “When you couldn’t button your jeans up this morning.  You’re wearing your hideous trackpants, for godsake!  Trackpants, I might add, that I thought I’d tossed in the trash years ago.”

"I look fantastic in these.”  He tilted the chair back on two legs.  “Tell 'er, Jemma. Don't I look fantastic?"

Jemma looked up, absently. "Hm?"

Not getting the answer he’d hoped for, Hunter shook his head.  “The point is no one in their right mind would eat this.”

Bobbi cocked an eyebrow and stabbed her fork into her own plate of lettuce.  “I’m eating it.”

“Exactly,” he mumbled in reply, an exaggerated frown on his lips as he took his first bite.  

The remainder of their lunch together was spent listening to Hunter complain about how she was trying to kill him through starvation.  

“This is just like the last time I was in Scotland,” he said, pointing with his fork.

Out of the corner of her eye, Bobbi noticed Jemma shift in her seat.  “What’re you even talking about?” Bobbi asked, annoyance unintentionally creeping into her voice.

“You know, when S.T.R.I.K.E. hired me for that mission in Inverclyde, and they left the lot of us in that rotted out shack on the edge of town in the middle of winter.  I was bloody well starving; I’ll have you know Scotland has the worst pizza.”

Jemma blushed and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Bobbi eyed her curiously as Hunter rattled on about his favourite foods from the various missions he’d been on.  Jemma never quite looked up and at them, her gaze was intently focused on her tea.  It was as though neither Bobbi nor Hunter were actually in the room with her.

“Bob?  Are you even listening to me?”

“Obviously not,” she admitted shaking her head and chuckling in spite of herself.  She turned in her seat toward him and folded her arms on the table.  “Why don’t you go and see if Fitz needs help in the lab.  I heard he’s testing out a mecha that Mack built.”

Almost immediately Hunter pushed out his chair and stood.  “I don’t know what that is, but anything is better than sticking around and eating that bird food.”

With Hunter gone, Bobbi collected her tray and walked over toward Jemma.

“How’re you feeling?” She asked before sliding into the seat across from her.

Jemma smiled softly and shrugged, her palms rubbing the circumference of her mug.  “Okay, I guess.  It’s been strange, getting back into the swing of things.”

“How’s everything with you and Fitz?”

There it was.  Bobbi wanted to fist pump when Jemma’s cheeks coloured and she, again, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear before casting her gaze downward.

“Things are… good,” she replied with slight hesitancy.

Bobbi narrowed her eyes, a smile creeping upon her lips. “Just good?”

She shrugged.  “It’s nothing.  It’s not important.”

“It must be important.”

Jemma looked up and eyed her curiously. “What makes you say that?”

Bobbi smiled more fully and took a bite from her salad.  “It’s just that you’ve been staring at that tea and since you haven’t taken a sip from it, I’m assuming it’s long gone cold.  And if I know anything about you, it’s that no tea has ever lasted long enough in your hands to go cold.  Something-- and I’m guessing it has to do with Fitz --- is distracting you.”

Her eyes widened and she looked down at her tea.  She made a face and guiltily pushed the mug toward the center of the table.    

“I am a spy, after all,” Bobbi added with a sympathetic smile.

Jemma sighed, resigned.  “It’s just… I’m not sure what to do.  He’s been so generous in helping me and after I ruined our first date... our dinner together… I think I’d like…” She blushed. “I mean, I just feel like he thinks I need time.”

“Do you?”

She shook her head, certain.  “Not about this.”

“Then I’ll give you the same advice I gave him.”  Jemma straightened to attention.  If there’d been paper and a pen nearby, Bobbi was certain Jemma would’ve have taken notes.  “Give him something to look forward to,” she said, simply.  “Start fresh.”

She paled, swallowing thickly.  “But what if he says no?”

Bobbi raised an eyebrow, illustrating her marked disbelief.  “You survived six months on an alien planet.  I’m sure I don’t need to lecture you about taking risks.”

She blushed.  “You don’t,” she agreed sheepishly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Bobbi stood and gathered her dishes, purposefully remaining silent as she headed toward the sink.  While washing hers and Hunter’s dishes she couldn’t help the sly grin that bloomed upon her lips when Jemma exited the cafeteria and headed across the hall, toward the lab.  For the first time she found herself wishing that the base wasn’t so thoroughly sound proofed; what she wouldn’t give to hear that conversation…

 

**HUNTER**

It turned out that a mecha was a robot.  A robot that was controlled by man.  Hunter couldn’t believe his luck; the day was already starting to turn around.  Mack had been called to run the back end of Daisy’s mission, so he’d asked Fitz to work out the remaining bugs in the machine.  Blessedly, Fitz had managed to do that long before Hunter had arrived so he’d been spared the technobabble in favour of--

“Robot race?” They’d said in unison.  Fitz barked with laughter before flicking a button on his keyboard and sending the annoyingly familiar photo Hunter was certain everyone in the lab must’ve seen by now, back into cyberspace.  He supposed Fitz must’ve needed a bit of a reprieve; it couldn’t have been easy staring at Hogface day in and day out as if he’d been mentally challenging the bloke to a duel.  

Hunter quickly set to work, creating obstacles out of equipment he’d never bothered to remember the names of.  He threw in a few pens for good measure and stole some intern’s goggles.  He pulled the elastic over his head and propped the glasses on his nose.  Admittedly, he felt a bit ridiculous.

“Ready?” He asked Fitz who stared at him in confusion.  “What?” He shrugged innocently, adjusting the goggles.  “I always use protection!”

Fitz snorted in reply, a grin wide on his lips before grabbing his own pair.  He quickly positioned his glasses on his face before grabbing the controls.  He held them out to Hunter.  “Care to do the honours?”

He reached for it, his heart racing excitedly.  “It’d be my pleas-”

“Fitz?”

Before Hunter even had the controllers in hand, Fitz practically spun in his spot, tearing them from his grasp.  “Jemma!”  

Hunter had to stop himself from rolling his eyes.  “Hey Simmons,” he said, willing the disappointment from his voice.   _ They’d been about to have a robot race!  With obstacles! _  She gave a weak smile, her gaze clearly planted on one person.  

She cleared her throat and worked her hands at her waist. “I was just wondering if you wanted to grab something to eat?”

Fitz’s ears reddened and he toed the floor.  “Sure. I could eat.”

Simmons smiled, her face relaxing slightly.  “You can always eat,” she teased.

“True,” he admitted and turned toward Hunter.  “Wanna come?”

“For food?!” He exclaimed, ripping the goggles from his head and tossing them at an intern, hitting him in the chest.  “Absolutely!  I’m bloody famished.  Maybe we can get a burger and fries or something.  Bobbi forced me to eat this green sh--”

“Actually--” Simmons stepped forward, her finger held up in interruption.  “Not… I meant just--” Her face fell a bit as she struggled for her truth.  “Just you.  Fitz, I mean.”

They both looked at her curiously, their mouths hanging open in surprise.  Hunter’s stomach growled audibly, breaking their silence.

“Oh.”

“Right then,” Hunter said, reaching for the controllers and taking them from a notably distracted Fitz.  He could be the bigger man for once.  “Wasn’t hungry anyway.”

Fitz turned, his mouth working a reply but failing to find the words.  

Hunter shook his head; he’d been there.  “It’s fine, mate.”  He pointed at the nearest intern.  “Jimmy here will robot race me, won’t ch’a?”

The intern gave him a look that definitely said otherwise.  

Fitz didn’t have to be told twice.  He tore the goggles from his head and followed Jemma out of the lab. His stomach growled loudly a second time and he secretly hoped that the whole base could hear exactly how hungry he was.

“ _ Bloody thick walls… _ ”

“My name’s Kevin, you know,” the intern said, suddenly at Hunter’s side.

He pressed his fingers against his eyes, willing himself patient.  And less hungry.  “No one cares, Jimmy.”

 

**JEMMA**

She chose something at random from her closet.  She wanted to look nice for Fitz, but she didn’t want to appear as if she’d tried too hard.  She wanted him to think of her as cool, casual, but still-- dare she even admit it--  _ fashionable and sexy _ .  Jemma buttoned the soft fabric across her chest and when she glanced at her reflection in the mirror she couldn’t help but wish that she had had the time to go to the hair salon.  Her highlights had long faded and since returning home she hadn’t wanted to venture out on her own.  Adding to that, she was seriously out of practice in using her curling wand and her hair was already beginning to look flat.

She brought her fingers toward her temple and swept a bit of hair behind her ear and frowned.  It looked a touch better, but still not great.   

“It’s just Fitz,” she whispered aloud, reminding herself that she’d gone out to dinner with him a million times before.  She really shouldn’t be nervous, but her heart clenched in anticipation; everything  _ felt _ different.

Jemma shook her head and began to unbutton her shirt.  It wasn’t quite right; it wasn’t special enough. Instead, she pulled a white, loosely fitted blouse over her head.  Just as she tugged it over her stomach, a knock sounded at her door.

She cursed and ran a hand lightly through her hair for the hundredth time that night. The one time she wished he’d be late, he was early.

“Bloody Murphy’s Law,” she muttered and quickly slipped her flats on and reached for her purse. “Coming!”

When she opened the door, the very sight of him sent the blood rushing hotly through her veins, leaving her disoriented.   _ Good Lord!  _  She brought her fingers to her temple and willed her nerves away.  She had vowed to tell him the truth that night and nothing was going to stop her from doing so.  She wanted them both to have something to look forward to; she refused to believe that they were cursed.

“Are you okay?” Fitz asked, stepping forward and reaching for her in concern.   

She swallowed thickly, willing the colour to return to her cheeks.  “Yes, yes,” she squeaked. “Totally fine.  Nothing to be concerned by!”

His arms hung limply in the air and he nodded.  

There was a brief moment of awkward silence before she quickly filled it by asking, “Shall we go?”

He pursed his lips and nodded again, stepping out into the hall and tucking his hands into his trouser pockets. She yanked her door closed a little too forcefully and wondered if he was as nerve-wracked as she was.

He cleared his throat and moved toward her, his arm feathering her own as they walked in tandem through the hanger.  She struggled to think of something to say and her gaze flitted toward him.  She ached to run the tips of her fingers along his bare forearm, dragging them purposefully toward his palm.  Her hands twitched eagerly, betraying her.  She swallowed a curse and tightened her hands into a fist.  

“You-- you look really beautiful,” he remarked politely, smiling bashfully.

Her eyes widened and she blushed.  “Thank you. You do as well,” she replied shyly, turning slightly to face him.  “I mean,” she shook her head, “look handsome, that is.”  Her face darkened further with embarrassment.  

She really needed to collect herself if she was going to do this right, because at that moment she was beginning to feel every bit like a teenager.

…

Jemma could still taste him on her lips when the waiter brought them the bottle of wine she’d ordered in advance.  She’d almost refused it; she hadn’t wanted to allow the flavour to rob her of him.  But she wanted to show Fitz how much she’d improved since their last attempt at a date. She wanted to show him how hard she’d worked to improve  _ for him _ .  So it was for that very reason that she brought the wine glass to her lips.  

She also hoped that the alcohol would soothe her frazzled nerves.  The taxi ride to the restaurant had been nothing short of nightmarish.  When he’d agreed to go to dinner with her, she’d worried that they’d run out of things to talk about.  She certainly hadn’t expected his silence and she had desperately done her best to fill the void with inane stories that had nothing to do with--

She coughed. She was not going to think of Hydra or ram’s heads or the darkened planet or anything of the sort.

Jemma took another sip of her wine and allowed herself to secretly examine the man across from her from behind the oversized goblet.  When she’d lunged forward and kissed him in the cab she’d felt like a woman possessed.  She’d needed him to understand: tonight was about them. She had a plan and him sitting stubbornly in the cab did not fit into that plan.

She suspected that her kiss and maybe even the accidentally-on-purpose graze of her hand against his on the ride over had spurned him on.  Whatever it had been, he was finally acting like the Fitz she’d remembered.  Their words were tripping over each other’s and there seemed to be barely a spare moment of silence between them as their dinner arrived.  

They talked about how difficult it had been for Coulson to get used to saying Daisy instead of Skye.  She heard about how May had sent the base a postcard from Hawaii that had a picture of dogs on surfboards and Fitz recounted, through tears of laughter, how Hunter and Bobbi had supposedly “broken up” but no one believed them because they could all still  _ hear _ them.  Each story she loved more than the one that preceded it, even if there was a hidden current of  _ “while you were gone” _ to each.  

She’d missed this. Missed them. Missed  _ him _ . 

It was that ache in her chest that prompted her to reach for his hand, silently vowing that there would be no more  _ accidentally-on-purposes _ for Jemma Simmons.  She squeezed his hand, her gaze softening as Fitz looked up at her, questioningly.  His face fell, marked with worry that she wanted desperately to kiss away.

“Why?” He asked shakily, his voice barely above a whisper and its brokenness causing her smile to falter.

…

There was something deeply satisfying when it came to embarrassing Fitz.  Especially since she’d, at long last, cleared up whatever doubt he'd had.  And so, when she’d pressed up against him, purposefully letting her lips linger a little too long against his ear, she relished in the shudder that echoed through him at her whispered words. 

“ _ And beyond _ .”

His hands seemed to instinctively and without warning reach for her hips and he tugged her flush against him, sending a blush to her cheeks.  Their fifth, not-accidental and completely on-purpose kiss, was not movie-perfect but neither were they.  Their noses bumped and her arm was locked in an awkward angle under his arm, but all that was of no consequence when compared to the heat that swelled between them.  

He must’ve grabbed for her security badge as the door to her room clicked open.  His hands wrapped tighter at her waist and she managed, as they stumbled across the threshold, to free her trapped arm. She grabbed at him as the door slammed shut behind them, one hand cupping his head and pulling him closer, the other reaching for his belt.  She was insatiable.

Jemma let go of all her inhibitions.  She didn’t want to think of their future or of the planet or of anything else that didn’t root her in that moment with Fitz.  When her back hit her mattress and Fitz fell on top of her, the soft, gentle contact made her gasp.  She wanted their long restrained feelings to be put on display, wanted him more than anything she’d ever wanted before.

Each kiss became indistinguishable from the one before it and warmth flowed through her as she held him tight against her.  When he pulled back and looked at her for confirmation, his eyes dark with desire, she felt confidence surge through her.

She touched his cheek and before gently guiding his lips back to hers, she said aloud what she’d known for longer than she’d ever admitted.

And for once she didn’t care who in the base heard her.

 

**FITZ**

Fitz was certain he was on track toward losing his mind.  When Jemma had invited him out for dinner he’d immediately assumed that it would be just like the hundreds of dinners they’d shared previously.   _ Before everything. _  He’d had no reason to suspect anything different; he’d decidedly come to terms with her choice: she loved Will and he’d missed his chance.   _ They’d _ missed their chance.    

It wasn’t until he’d tried to invite Hunter along and she’d interjected, that he’d started to truly consider her intentions.  Admittedly though, he was afraid to let the flicker of hope in his chest reignite; but with just the simplest look, Jemma held the power to spark it anew.

Maybe others would find him weak willed, but when she asked him to meet at her room in an hour, his heart leapt with the possibilities.  Maybe he’d imagined the inflection in her voice or the flutter of a smile upon her lips, but it felt a bit like a promise.  It felt like there was something more there, hidden behind that same soft smile he’d seen on her lips only once before.  It was the smile that had haunted his dreams since that fateful day in the lab.  

In any case, he could never refuse her.

When they exited the base and climbed into an awaiting taxi, it was then that she finally revealed her plans for the evening.  He was left speechless when he learned that she’d made reservations for the Octagon, a nearby steak restaurant he’d been dying to try.  She detailed the efforts she’d gone through to secure the reservations, revealing that she’d eventually convinced the Maitre d’ when she’d explained that it was a very special occasion they were marking.   

She seemed excited by his surprise.  Her soft, delicate curls bounced with every punctuation and her smile seemed to glow in the fading sunlight which filtered into the backseat of the cab.  In truth, he was confused by her intentions and when her hand grazed his, he couldn’t stop himself from wondering if Jemma had done so accidentally-on-purpose.  He wished he could stop hoping. Fitz gritted his teeth and suppressed a sudden urge that fired up inside him.

“We’re here,” she declared, reaching into her purse as the cab came to a stop in front of the restaurant.  She passed a few bills to the driver before opening the door and climbing out.  

“Is this a date?” He blurted, his body rooted in place and his face hot.  It was the first thing he’d really said since they’d left the base and he wasn’t quite sure which answer he wanted to hear, but he needed to know.  He needed to be sure.

She bent down, one hand propped on the door frame of the car, the other on her hip.  “Yes, of course,” she acknowledged shakily.  “What else would it be?”

Fitz shook his head, indignant. “We can’t.”

She tilted her head and cocked her eyebrow.  “Why ever not?”

_ You love him. _  The answer stalled upon his lips and he swallowed thickly, afraid to vocalize the thought as a chill ran the length of his spine.

Her face fell as if she’d read his mind.  “Fitz.”

He shrugged.  He couldn’t help it if--

Before he could even finish the thought, she was leaning forward into the cab and pressing her lips against his.  Shocked, he had barely registered the action before she was pulling away, smiling coyly.

“Are you getting out, or--?” The driver asked, turning slightly in his seat.

“He’s getting out,” Jemma replied perfunctorily. She stood upright, motioning for him with a tilt of her head.

He gave a slight nod in agreement and stepped out of the cab, silently cursing.  He could never stop hoping.

…

Their dinner had long finished and they’d been sitting, reveling in a moment of contented silence, when Jemma reached across the table and took his hand.  The feel of her and the purposeful caress of her fingers against his skin finally spurned him to muster the courage to ask what had gnawed at him since she’d kissed him in the cab.

“Why?”

“Why what?” Her smile fell and he momentarily wished he could take back his question.  But he needed to know, needed to understand.  

“Why are you doing this to me?”

Her brows furrowed and she shook her head with confusion.  “What do you mean?”

“This!” He declared a little too loudly and a few heads turned in their direction. “You said this was a date!”

“ _ And? _ ”

He floundered and detangled his fingers from Jemma's grip.  “But… You-- you…” He could feel his temper begin to flare.  “You said that you loved  _ him _ .”

“So?”

His fingers pinched at his nose bridge and he leaned back in his chair, a million thoughts raced through his head at once.  It didn’t make sense; none of it made sense.  He struggled to find the words to vocalize even one of his thoughts.  He squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself calm.  

Fitz felt her presence next to him.  She’d moved, much like he had once done, and reached for his hands, gathering them between her own.

“Fitz!  Listen to me.”

He couldn’t bring himself to look at her, his gaze focused firmly on his lap where her hands cupped his.

“You've never asked!  I was going to tell you tonight, but---”  Her words trailed and her grip on his hands tightened.  

Tears stung the corners of his eyes and he sighed.  This was what it had come to: he was too late, he had missed his chance.  His heart ached, her truth hitting him hard.  

“Fitz!”

He shook his head, disappointment riddling every part of him.

She tugged his hands toward her.  “Fitz?  Look at me.  _ Please _ .”

He lifted his gaze to meet hers; it took every bit of courage he had left to do so.

“You silly creature.  You need to stop.”  There it was: that same smile again.  The smile from the lab.  The smile that seemed to evoke want and--

“You jumped through a hole in the universe for me.”  

He startled. “ _ What?   _ So?”  And he’d do it again for her if he had to.

She smiled broader and lifted her hand to his cheek.  “Oh Fitz.  I wish the words were easier for me to say.  It’s why I wanted you to hear my recordings.”  She paused, her eyes beginning to water.  “I know things are mental right now and that it's all just terribly confusing-- it is for me too. But Fitz," she took a deep breath and squared her shoulders, "no matter what happens in the end, it’s  _ you _ .  It’s always been you.”

He didn’t know what to say; she’d stunned him to silence all over again.

“I may have said that I love Will, but I’m most definitely  _ in love _ with you.”

He exhaled a shaky breath that he’d been holding in and a tear escaped, slipping down his cheek.  She was in love…  _ with him?  _

“So this is a date then?” He whispered in disbelief.

She nodded, chuckling lightly, her grin growing wider. “It is.”

Fitz stared at her, captivated.  He had so little self control left.  

When she moved toward him, her lips meeting his in what he was certain was an embarrassing display of public affection, it was then that he realized that he didn’t need to resist her any longer.  She’d, at long last, chosen him.

“We should get home,” she whispered, her lips slightly swollen and her eyes full of lust

He could only nod in a dazy reply before she was gathering her purse and tossing money onto the table.  

“I hope the base was soundproofed while I was gone,” she muttered cheekily, taking his hand.

He shook his head.  “We’re gonna be in trouble, aren’t we?”  

 

**SAM KOENIG**

“Billy!” Sam called, swallowing his mouthful of popcorn and turning in his chair.  “Come look at this!”

Billy groaned with annoyance and waved his game controller.  “I just hit level six, you know that means I get a dragon.”

“You’ll want to see this.  Quick.”

Billy paused the game and rose to his feet, joining his brother at the wall of monitors.  “What am I looking at?”

“There!”  Sam pointed to the monitor in the top corner.  “The one that scans quadrant six.”  

He leaned forward to get a closer look.  “Is that Fitz-Simmons?”

Sam nodded.  “It is.”

“But they’re--”

He nodded again and leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers contentedly.  “‘Bout time.”

“Do you think--”

“--We should help them out?” Sam finished for his brother.

They looked at each other and nodded simultaneously. “Obviously!”  

Billy leaned forward and reached for a clipboard that hung on the wall.  He flipped quickly to a page.  “Jemma Simmons, doorway 6137.”

“Got it.”  Sam typed the command onto his tablet and slid his finger across the screen initiating the sequence.  “Unlocked.”  They both watched as the door clicked open and the two scientists, oblivious to the Koenig brothers’ intervention, tumbled into the room.

“Nicely done, Sam.”

“Solid work, Billy.”  They grinned at each other and high fived.  

“Should we tell Coulson?”

Billy bobbed his head in consideration and shrugged.  “He’ll probably hear them anyway.”

“Probably,” Sam agreed as Billy headed back to the couch and picked up his game controller.  He turned in his chair to face the monitors again.  “Make sure you tell Tom when you play against him next that he really needs to fix the soundproofing in this place.  It’s starting to get ridiculous.”  

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


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